You Don't Want to See Me Angry
by jamdropsmarblecakes
Summary: Felicity's conviction in her act of revenge was terrifying.


**This is something that I dug up from a while ago after a little prompt from absentlyabbie on Tumblr. It's old, and not the best, but I think it shows Felicity in a different light.**

**The prompt was the following:**

_**"Suddenly I would like to see somebody write me a Felicity doing something **__really violent__**. As a conscious choice. Revenge on some asshole who did something awful to her, threatened her life or someone else's. But I want to see her do something brutal.**_

_**And not be sorry. Firm in her conviction about it.**_

_**Sometimes you just gotta beat a motherfucker cold."**_

_**So here we have it.**_

* * *

It started out as an average night at the pokey sports bar a few blocks over from Verdant. Oliver was playing pool with a few of the regulars. Felicity guessed they were regulars from the way they called each other by their last names. That, and they seemed to pay less, if at all, for their beers.

One guy had been eyeing her all night from a few tables over and he had chosen a moment in which Oliver was deep in concentration to decide he had enough Dutch courage to sidle over.

"Buy you a drink?" he offered, plopping on a stool next to her, sitting so close that his thigh pressed against her legs. She shifted, trying to get away.

"I am all right," she answered coolly, raising her bottle, and indicating that her drink was at hand.

"What's a pretty girl doing all alone here?" he tried another tactic.

"I'm not alone."

"You look lonely."

"I am quite all right. Now, I'd like to enjoy my drink in peace."

"Come on, don't be like that. I am just trying to be friendly."

"Unnecessarily,"

He moved even closer, now almost on top of her, booze coursing through him, heavy hand squeezing her shoulder. She tried to shrug it off, but he held on.

"Could you fuck off?" she requested with icy politeness. Men who came on to her weren't new, but this one was too brash for her liking. He was also very large, and a mixture of abrasiveness, drink and determination didn't make him any more pleasant.

"She said she isn't interested," she heard a quiet, husky voice, coming from behind the guy.

"Who asked you?"

"Let's just leave it be," Oliver proposed, peacefully.

"What, this unfriendly bitch is your hoe?" he guy smiled crookedly.

In one stride, Oliver reached the man, clasped his wrist and squeezed.

"What the fuck, man?" cried the guy, his face changing. He tried to shake off Oliver's brutal hand, but to no avail.

"When a girl asks to be left alone, you listen," Oliver hissed through clenched teeth. "And you don't insult her either, just because she says "no" to you."

"Fuck off, man!" growled the guy, pushing at Oliver, trying to wring his arm away, or start a fight, but he was drunk and waved his one available hand wildly in front of Oliver's face. "Leave me the fuck alone! You gonna break my arm!"

"I intend to," Oliver said flatly.

She got up and gently tried to interfere, but Oliver gave her one strong head shake, willing her to sit down.

"We are just conversating," he chuckled lightly, twisting the guy's hand further, causing a stifled yelp.

"All right, all right!" groaned his opponent, "enough!" he was pale and sweat beaded his brow, as he tried not to scream.

"What do you say?" Oliver prompted him.

"Fuck, fuck," cried the guy. She watched a bruise spread over his arm, beneath Oliver's thick fingers.

"Not what I had in mind," Oliver hissed through gritted teeth.

"Sorry!" he groaned at last, "sorry. Just leave me alone."

"Very good!" Oliver swiftly released his hold on the man's arm. "I think we all learned a lesson here."

He took her by the hand and said,

"Not the evening I was hoping for, but it is what it is. Let's go."

Having him hold her hand so gently, the grasp of his fingers light, she wondered how it was even possible for him to have this vicious strength and such tenderness all at once.

"Oh, I had such a good game going," he lamented, as they got in the car.

"Thank you."

"Sorry that the evening got screwed up."

"It's all right. I don't think that it was screwed up. That was the most romantic thing anyone's ever done for me."

"What? Bust that guy's arm?"

"Nah…just standing up for me. It was…I don't know…He was so much bigger than you, and drunk too and kind of mean…But you did it. It was beautiful."

"You forget what I do under the cover of darkness."

He joked, but she could see that he enjoyed her compliments, and that he was able to do this for her.

Without any warning a fist came through the driver's side window, scattering glass in every direction.

While Felicity still had her eyes closed she heard Oliver grunt uncomfortably and when she opened her eyes, she saw a knife protruding from the right side of his chest.

"Felicity," his whisper was strained.

She opened the glove box and pulled out the small hand gun she kept in there, tucking it in the back of her jeans.

"Felicity," Oliver tried again, unsuccessfully reached for her.

Without saying a word, Felicity flew out of the car and around the other side where the booze affected Neanderthal from inside was smiling smugly at her.

"You fucking bastard!" she yelled.

"Only you could make those words sound so cute," he teased.

In a practiced, yet still slightly clumsy, move she reached behind and under her leather jacket, pulling the hand gun out.

"Shut the fuck up," she whispered, the malice in her voice frightening as she levelled the gun at him.

"Oh, come on, like you know how to use it," the attacker scoffed.

"You think?" she protested, taking a confident step forward, making sure the 'click' of the gun being cocked was audible to the greasy man before her.

"Now, now," his hands slowly moved into a suggestion of surrender.

"Don't move!"

He took a tentative step forward.

"I said don't move!" she yelled.

Another.

The focus of her gun went from his chest to his knee and before she knew it she had fired.

"Are you fucking crazy?" exclaimed the man, now laying on his side, clutching at his knee.

"No," she replied calmly, swinging a booted foot in the general direction of his stomach.

She heard all the air leave his lungs but gave him two or three more swift kicks.

She glanced over at Oliver in the car, he was leaning heavily against the door, the shattered glass cutting into his cheek.

"Oliver!?" she called, with her gun still trained on the man on the ground. There was a little movement offered in response, Oliver's left hand twitching as it pressed against the wound and a small groan from parted lips.

She rehoused the gun in the back of her jeans and sat on top of the big man's chest. He was gasping uncomfortably, his face red and sweaty.

"You fucking shot me!"

"You stabbed my friend!" she roared, so close to his face she could see the broken capillaries in his cheeks.

Felicity dealt the man two hard blows to the side of the head.

"I'm going to find you, and I'm going to fuck you, and then I'm going to fucking kill you," he seethed.

She grasped the collar of his shirt tightly in her two tiny fists and used every ounce of strength she had to slam his head into the pavement.

"Whore," the man spat up at her.

With one hand around his throat, she reached back for her gun.

And that was how the police found them, Felicity pressing the barrel of her gun so hard between the man's eyes that when she pulled it away, there was a perfect 9mm round indent.

* * *

**Ta-daa.**


End file.
